


Full of Surprises

by MoMoMomma



Series: Kinktober 2018 [1]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Deepthroating, Kinktober 2018, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 06:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16153793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoMoMomma/pseuds/MoMoMomma
Summary: For a man whose life is as exciting as Rook’s is nowadays, he certainly didn’t find a lover who was a “soft place to land.”





	Full of Surprises

Rook never knows what it’s going to be with John. Cuddling on the couch in front of the fireplace? An all-out fist fight in the middle of the bedroom that has him stomping out, spitting blood? John barely letting him get through the front door before shoving him up against it and thrusting a hand inside his pants?

For a man whose life is as exciting as Rook’s is nowadays, he certainly didn’t find a lover who was a “soft place to land.”

He’s not actually sure how he landed John as a lover anyhow. One minute John had been droning on and on and _on_ through the radio at him while Rook mostly ignored him and played fetch with Boomer. The next there had been a considerable pause, between John’s “you _will_ atone” and Rook’s responding “you _will_ suck my dick.”

And then John’s Chosen were dragging him off. Not to the bunker this time, or to the river. No, neatly depositing him in John’s ranch, hog-tied on the rug in front of the fireplace like some insane Christmas present. John had done his usual spiel about sin and atonement and blah, blah, sinner, blah. Until he’d waved his people off, told them his usual bullshit of “confessions must be private.”

Before dropping to his knees, unwinding Rook’s binds with shaking hands and darting eyes, sweat dotted on his forehead and lower lip as he carefully, so carefully pressed the issue.

“Was it a lie? Just a joke? Or are you… _do_ you…”

Rook is not what people might refer to as “choosy” with his lovers. Rook’s lovers don’t tend to stick around for more than a night or so anyhow. He has very few standards on who he’ll take to bed when it comes to mental stability, usually more concerned with how big their dick is and how good their ass looks and other such important things.

Rook has, maybe once or twenty times in his life, been called a slut. And this is okay. He accepts this.

But this? Toweling off in John Seed’s bathroom because he’d been dirty and John refused to let him get in bed while he was dirty? Staring into a mirror that smacked of vanity and listening in amusement to the sounds of John rummaging around in the bedroom beyond the door? Being here, full stop, for the however many-eth time in...what? Six months almost?

It’s a bit much. Even for Rook’s expanded viewpoint on what is and isn’t insane. 

John’s laying on his back, sprawled on the mattress, head tipped over the edge to glare balefully at him once Rook steps out. He’s down to just a pair of soft looking pants, no underwear waistband popping over the top, and he’s scowling.

“Do you have to use _all_ my hot water when you come over? What if I had wanted a shower?”

“If you’d wanted a shower, you would’ve just come and joined me.” Rook points out, as though John hasn’t done that exact same thing multiple times now.

John, for his part, doesn’t seem to appreciate the honesty. Or he doesn’t like being called out, one of the two. Instead, he motions Rook forward, scowl still firmly in place, and rips his towel to the ground once Rook’s close enough.

He’s so tempted to knee him in the head. John keeps his bedroom obnoxiously cold, probably to combat the twenty-seven layers or so of blankets he insists upon sleeping with. Rook can feel his balls start to draw up, try and protect themselves from the faux-Arctic. He opens his mouth to snap, ask John what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, when a hand curves around his cock.

Lifts it. Presses it over John’s pretty perfect nose until the head is brushing his lips. Lips that part, allowing his tongue to slip out and swipe over it.

“What the--”

“Shut up,” John says idly, like he’s not wearing Rook’s dick like a fucking face mask. “I haven’t done this since college. I need to focus.”

What ‘this’ is becomes achingly clear in about six seconds. When John presses the tip of Rook’s cock between his lips, free hand rising to grab at his hip and pull him forwards. It’s a curious sensation, a curious _position_. Rook’s so used to getting blown with John’s eyes flicked up, watching his reactions, cataloging every single detail. 

He can’t see much of John’s face at all. Just the lower plush curve of his lip as he takes him in deep. Deeper. Until Rook’s reaching down and scrambling at John’s wrist, choking out a “wait, _wait_ ” just as John gags.

Rook yanks himself back, as far as he can with John’s hand wrapped around his cock and his fingernails biting moons into Rook’s hip. He’s already flushed, cheeks red as he glares upwards and mouth a swollen temptation.

“You’re gonna choke yourself.”

“What I am _going_ to do,” John’s tone is far too even which means he’s either out of control or totally sane. Rook’s not sure which is worse. “Is suck your cock until you can’t see straight. I am going to put you so far down my throat I’ll taste you for _days_. And you’re not going to stop me, are you?”

“If you die because you choked to death on my dick…”

“Stop being _boring_.” John complains before hauling him forward, stopping just shy of sinking Rook’s cock back inside, lips brushing against the tip as he grins. “And just let me do it. Trust me. I know how.”

Rook doesn’t really want to know where the confidence, or knowledge, comes from. He knows John has something of a checkered past--the same of which can be said for...most of Hope County at this point--but he’s never actively asked for details. John’s never shared any either, content to seemingly let his past die wherever in his mind it’s buried. 

Aside from little comments like that.

John pulls a surprised groan from his chest when Rook slides further down his throat this time, muscles clenching hot and tight, and Rook finds himself cupping the sides of his face gently. Trying for gentle anyhow. It’s a fight to keep his hips still, especially when John starts pulling and pushing on him in something like a rhythm. Clearly trying to get him to thrust.

He’s hesitant. Doesn’t want to hurt John because this isn’t the time for it. There are other times, when John’s got a manic shine to his eyes and Rook’s far too wound from some bullshit or another. When drawing blood isn’t just his goal, it’s his endgame. 

But this is…

“So fucking good.” He murmurs, quiet, drawing a soft noise of surprise from John. 

Down the length of his body, sprawled like he is, Rook sees his hips lift. Cock a thick line behind his zipper. He responds well to praise, always has, but there’s a desperation to his hands the next time he pulls. Like he wants to _earn_ what Rook will give so freely.

He lets himself be pulled forwards, slipping ever deeper down John’s throat, until his breath catches in his chest and his eyes are shock wide. He’s not certain the first time but the next, when he’s watching with a more pointed gaze, it happens _again_. John’s throat shifting, widening.

“Holy fuck,” Rook breathes, one hand slipping down from John’s cheek, curved around the side of his throat, thumb against the bulge of his Adam’s apple. “Baby, I can _see_ \--”

John hums, something pleased in the wet sounding choke of it. He doesn’t give himself enough time to adjust, enough time to _breathe_ , and the next thrust of Rook’s hips--helpless, instinctive, almost thoughtless--makes his throat jump beneath the gentle press of his thumb. 

Rook can _see_ and he can _feel_ and--fuck.

“Fuck,” he repeats distantly, aware that he’s moving, aware that the growing tension in his balls, in his belly, is ratcheting tighter and tighter with every sloppy sounding swallow. “John, baby, it’s so--fuck, you’re amazing. So good for me.”

Rook slides his hand over, careful, gentle. Spreads the span of his palm over John’s throat and _feels_ the next swallow. That’s all it takes, along with a wicked sounding hum from John, and he’s fighting to stay on his feet as he comes. John doesn’t let him pull back, swallowing down every last bit with wet little gags that make Rook shiver as he fights to back up.

His knees go out from under him the second John actually lets go, and Rook doesn’t fight it, crashing to the floor with very little grace. 

He thinks he hears John laugh at him.

But he fights through it, scrambles to his knees and shuffles forwards until he can seize either side of John’s--now red and sweaty and disconcertingly slick--face, yanking him into a kiss. His lips are swollen, tongue not as flexible as it usually is, and they’re upside down, but it’s _perfect_.

“Jesus,” Rook pulls back just enough to mumble, John still trying to pull him back into the kiss. “You’re full of fucking surprises, aren’t you?”

“Full of something else now too.” John’s smile is wicked, probably to make up for the crap joke, and Rook laughs into their next kiss.

“I can’t do--well. I’m pretty sure I can’t do that. But I wanna take care of you too?”

“Anything.” There’s a depth to the word that scares Rook, will always scare him, but the brightness in John’s eyes chases away the shadows of doubt for the moment. “Anything you want.”

“Dangerous.”

“Yes,” John murmurs, a wicked tip to his mouth. “But so worth it, right?”

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna see what's coming for the next day? Check out my masterlist at [Tumblr](http://momomomma2.tumblr.com/post/178633371556/happy-kinktober)


End file.
